Jordan didn’t think he’d ever seen such a deep shade of crimson on someone’s face. It kind of glowed in the dim light of the darkened bar. Beet red.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, Halsey, but this isn’t a bit funny. There was a positive match to the dead woman’s DNA profile. There’s no doubt the woman you shot was Cherish Duncan.”
Halsey gritted his teeth. “I didn’t shoot Cherish Duncan.”
Jordan rose slowly to his full height, stretched to appear taller. “Then you shot someone. You act guilty.” He dropped a few bucks on the table. “Drinks are on me.” He nodded toward Halsey. “We’ll chat later.”
With that promise on his lips, Jordan sauntered toward the exit, feeling Zach Halsey’s angry eyes burning holes in his back right between the shoulders all the way out the front door.
A half mile away, Chelsea popped up from the floor of the back seat, giggling like she was still in high school and they had just pulled the most righteous prank ever. “Did you see his face when he first saw me? It was priceless.”
She huffed and puffed as she crawled over and fell into the front seat.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Chelsea. Something was off.”
Her exhilaration fizzled. “What are you thinking?”
“We may have just pushed him to do something desperate.”
“What can he do? He thinks I’m dead. He just saw my ghost. He has no idea where Brett is. No one does.”
Chelsea was smart. She could pull all the loose threads together and weave them into a textured pattern. One more thread and she’d get it.
“He thinks Grayson has an agenda against his family.”
Chelsea sucked in a sharp breath. “He’ll go after Grayson.”
He cast a glance her way before pulling the car over. One more scared thought rushed though his mind, and he had made his decision. He turned the car around.
“Where are you going?”
“He’s in a dangerous mood. I’m calling Shaw, and we’re going to follow him.”
His plan to call Shaw Bennett failed. He hadn’t seen his cell phone charger in days. His phone was deader than Halsey’s law enforcement career.
Chapter Twenty
Riley brushed past Brett for the hundredth time. Brett lowered his protective mask and glared at Riley. “Will you stop that? You’re making me break my concentration.”
“How much longer?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. This is the last batch. You can tell your boss the order will be full tomorrow.”
Riley rubbed his finger under his nose through the dried snot in his mustache. Brett’s stomach turned. He averted his eyes and went back to his work.
“I don’t have direct contact with Haskins.” The whine in Riley’s voice indicated he wasn’r happy with his status in the organization.
Brett repositioned his mask and muttered just loud enough to be heard. “I meant Dalton.”
Riley swirled and attacked, grabbing Brett by his arm and swinging him around.
“Hey, watch out. Don’t do stuff like that when I’m mixing. Are you trying to get us killed?” He shrugged Riley’s hand off and returned his attention to the task in front of him. The smell had gotten to him despite the mask. It wouldn’t be long before he was feeling the effects of being too close to harsh chemicals.
“Dalton is not my boss.”
Brett kept his eyes on the mix. “Humph.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Riley stood so close to Brett that he could smell garlic on his breath.
“I don’t take orders from you.” He shot Riley a dismissive glance.
Riley’s fist met Brett’s jaw and knocked him from the bar stool he used when he was mixing. He tumbled to the floor, spilling some of the liquid. Scrambling away from the spill, he backed into Riley’s boots.
Laughter filled the barn. “Yeah, right. Nothing happened.”
Brett rose to his feet, taking his sweet time and rubbing the pain in his jaw. “You’re lucky.” Before he could control his temper, he’d returned the punch.
Riley went down.
The tension had gotten so high between Riley, Dalton, and Brett that Brett had concluded it was time to bolt and run. Right before the order finished. Best time to leave. His departure would make a statement.
Riley jumped to his feet. “You want to try that again?”
“What’s going on in here?” Grayson’s question ripped through the anger he and Riley were throwing at each other.
Brett was about to spout some ugly accusations at Riley when Fred Haskins entered the barn through the front door. Funny. He’d never met the man, but he didn’t seem nearly as dangerous as his reputation. Rather, he appeared to be fragile and sick. That didn’t make sense, because he was pretty sure the man was no older than fifty.
Riley dusted off his jeans. “Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing to me.” Grayson’s even tone seemed more dangerous than Haskins’s reputation. Had Grayson gone to the dark side? Grayson glanced around the barn. “Where’s Dalton?”
Riley cleared his throat. Brett could see the temptation glistening in the man’s eyes. This was Riley’s chance to stab Dalton in the back. He took it. “He went to The Ragged Edge to get a beer and find some action.” The sarcasm dripped from Riley’s helpful information dump.
Brett winced. He could only imagine the kind of action Dalton sought.
“You almost done here?” Grayson addressed Brett as if Riley wasn’t in the room.
Perhaps the cop had perceived the resentment Riley held toward Dalton and used it to his advantage. Divide and conquer. Was that technique in the cop training manual?
Maybe Grayson was still one of the good guys. Brett needed to make up his mind about which side the cop played on, and soon. He sensed the moment of action had arrived.
Haskins edged past Grayson, scanning the room and studying the set up. When he had finished his examination, he leveled his gaze on Grayson.
Grayson then made his demand as if speaking for Haskins. “We need the stuff tonight. We can’t put our buyers off any longer. If you can’t deliver, well then…things could get rough for you.”
Brett dared to resist the pressure. “It cooks as fast as it cooks. I can’t pull the stuff out of my butt.”
Haskins leveled his gaze on Brett and held it there. Still the old man held his tongue. Was he mute? Brett’s cell had only so much recording time before it halted. Brett couldn’t risk resetting the phone without tipping Haskins off that he was being recorded, and he wanted Haskins’s voice in the mix as evidence of his involvement.
Was Haskins’s hard stare supposed to intimidate him? If he could put a bullet through the man’s head right then, right there he would. But Grayson was watching.
Grayson addressed Brett. “Get Dalton on the phone. We want what you have packed and ready for shipment.”
Brett’s heart skipped a beat. He’d never used the record function and made a call at the same time. Actually, he was just getting used to using a cell phone. When Dalton had discovered he didn’t have a cell, he’d derided him and then tossed a pay-as-you-go phone at him.
Riley mouthed off again. “We don’t need him.”
Haskins finally spoke. “Are you hard of hearing, son?”
Riley grumbled and then shoved Brett in the back. “Get busy.”
Brett knocked his hands away. “Don’t shove me.”
Riley’s face turned red. It wasn’t until Haskins made a disgruntled noise that he moved again and kicked a box aside. He opened a trap door and jumped through the hole. Pound packages of crystal meth appeared through the opening. Brett grabbed them as Riley pushed them toward him.
The accumulated packages made a large stack on the workbench, representing a lot of hours of dangerous work. His work. In a weird way, he was kind of proud of his product and his ability to deliver.
He shoved the stray thoughts out of his head. Pride of work
was good, but for this poison? Not so much.
One of his goals had been to make sure the stuff never made it to market. He’d seen what crystal meth addiction could do to a person. Up close and personal. One of the roughest things he’d ever watched in his life was the slow, painful death of a woman that could have been his lover if she hadn’t given her life up to the drug. When it became apparent she loved to tweak more than she loved Brett, the dynamics of their relationship had changed. Still, watching her die hadn’t been without a tremendous amount of pain. Grief hit him in the chest once again. He sucked back his emotional reactions and reached for another load.
The barn door swung open and Dalton rushed in, stopping with a skid when Haskins and Grayson turned inquisitive eyes toward him. Grayson had shoved back his open jacket to reveal a gun holstered at his side.
He lowered his hand, but his fingers twitched. “Where have you been?” Grayson punched his question at the wannabe drug boss.
Dalton hesitated a moment too long. Haskins’s impatience came crashing down on the man. “I put you in charge here. That means you don’t leave until the job is done. You can get a piece of tail on your own time.” Haskins stepped back, exhibiting obvious body language, distancing himself from whatever punishment he would have Grayson mete out to the man.
For a moment, Brett let sympathy for Dalton overshadow his good judgment. Then he pushed the stupid feeling aside. Dalton abused and bullied. No more sympathy for Dalton.
Riley climbed out of the hole in the ground. Dalton charged toward him, stopping just before he bumped into Riley. “What did you tell them?”
Grayson rested his hand on the gun at his side.
Riley lied through his teeth. “Nothing.” He raised his hands. “I didn’t tell them anything.”
Grayson apparently picked up on the indiscretion. “You didn’t tell us what?”
Dalton moved back from the other men, taking a position toward a more favorable potential escape route. “Listen, forget about that. I have something I need to tell you.” He faced Haskins, clearly aware of who had the real power in the room.
Haskins apparently had other ideas about where the conversation was going. “Why is it taking so long? Are you skimming?”
Dalton’s face paled. “Skimming. No boss. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then, what’s he talking about?”
“I don’t know. He’s making stuff up.” Dalton moved a step forward, leaving his flank vulnerable to Riley. “I did go to the Edge, and I’m glad I did.”
“Oh, yeah. Why is that?” Haskins crossed his arms over his chest.
“I saw Zach Halsey there. He was pretty wasted by the time I got there.”
“So?” It seemed Haskins had no intention of cutting Dalton any slack.
Did Dalton have a clue how close he was to final retribution?
“A woman came out of the back, and I thought Zach was gonna die. It was like he’d seen a ghost or something. But that’s not the good part… I had this feeling that I’d seen her before, and I had. The cops have been saying all those women that worked for Cooley are dead, but I don’t think so. That woman looked just like the one they said got away and then got killed at those cabins. Ya’ll know who I’m talking about?”
Brett’s stomach heaved. No doubt, Dalton meant his sister. Had someone managed to get to her? He watched Haskins and Grayson from the corner of his eye. It was freaky how much the two men looked alike.
The room fell silent. Nothing but the sound of a lone owl hooting in the distance disturbed the men while they each pondered the meaning of Dalton’s news.
Haskins spoke to Grayson as if no one else was present. “Make sure they finish this job and then clean this place out.” He paused. “About the other situation, you know what to do.”
Grayson’s eyes flashed fire for a second and then dulled to unreadable. He nodded as if that was all the instructions he needed.
Haskins left the barn, and Grayson spoke to the room. “You heard the man. Finish the job and load it into the back of your car. I’ll be back in half an hour.” He pointed toward Dalton. “You come with me. We need to talk.”
A half an hour wasn’t long enough. Brett knew it. Grayson surely suspected as much. The knowing looks they’d passed between them answered a few questions, like the certainty that Grayson intended to give Brett time to overcome Riley and clear out before the stuff moved.
The confrontation had zoomed as if in fast forward, and the conflict had escalated to the point Brett had anticipated violence. Dalton’s announcement had defused the bomb. How would Grayson handle the news that there was a surviving witness?
Brett watched Dalton’s slumped shoulders as he and Grayson disappeared through the barn door. The wood slammed shut behind them. Brett spun and faced Riley, wary of turning his back to the man.
Riley backed toward a chair and dropped his lazy butt onto the seat. He nodded toward the table where only a few moments before Brett had been dawdling over the last batch. “Get to work.”
Brett squared his shoulders. “I can’t do this in half of an hour by myself.”
Riley smirked and feigned indifference to Brett’s dilemma. “You’re the cook. Not me.”
Brett faced the man. “Move. I have to get something from behind you.”
Riley shifted a bit. Brett nudged into the space behind him and wrapped his fingers around the lug nut wrench he’d hidden among the boxes on that side of the barn. Over time, he’d deposited several makeshift weapons in advantageous spots around the perimeter of the building, inside and out.
He raised the tool over Riley’s head and brought it down hard. With no time to lose, he swiftly bound Riley’s hands and feet with the cord he’d hidden nearby.
Riley’s eyes blinked open as Brett tested the knot on the last binding. “I’m leaving the pot boiling. You better hope and pray someone comes along to rescue you before the brew burns to the bottom of the pan and catches on fire.”
The other man’s eyes registered anger and fear. “You’re a dead man, Duncan.”
“Have you ever seen what meth addiction does to a person over time? If you keep using the stuff, your face is going to rot off. Might be better than a douche like you deserves, but I’m doing this because I don’t think anyone deserves to die like that.”
Riley squirmed, the veins in his neck pulsing. “You can’t bail. Are you trying to get us both killed?”
Brett laughed. “You know what? I don’t really care what happens to you.”
With those words hanging in the air, he yanked off a length of duct tape and spread it across Riley’s mouth. The man’s eyes spoke volumes. Hatred was a living thing.
****
Zach Halsey turned his truck onto a two-lane road. Long tree limbs arched across the asphalt blocking the moon from view for short periods and then allowing its grayish-wide orb to appear and cast dim light over the landscape.
“Where is he going?” Chelsea hunched over as if leaning forward was sufficient to move them quicker down the road toward whatever was about to happen.
“I don’t know where we are. I’m not from around here, remember?”
He glanced her way, but she kept her focus dead ahead.
“I’m not sure where we are either. We’ve been out of town for a long time.”
He checked the clock on the dash. “About ten minutes.”
“Does he know we’re following him?”
Jordan considered giving up the chase. “He’ll figure it out soon. We can’t hide our presence from him if we’re the only two cars on a seldom used road.”
“It’s the middle of the night. This might be a busy road in the daytime.”
He doubted that. Zach knew the countryside. Jordan didn’t. If the guy thought he was being tailed, he’d begin evasive maneuvers soon.
Zach took a sharp turn onto a dirt road to the left, his wheels spinning up dust behind him.
“Right on time.” Jordan checked his rearview. No other vehicle behi
nd them as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t far due to the heavy tree cover. He passed the turn and kept going.
“What are you doing? Didn’t you see him turn there?”
He started a search for a likely spot to do a U-turn. “It’s time to give this up.” He glanced at her. Was that a pout? “Maybe following him was enough to stop whatever he had planned. Maybe this gives him some time to sober up before he does something stupid.”
“He already did something stupid.”
Jordan couldn’t argue with that.
Bright lights glared in his rearview. One glance revealed a truck right on his bumper.
“Where did he come from?”
Without a doubt, the person behind them was Zach Halsey.
Chelsea twisted in her seat. “How did that happen?”
Jordan studied the thick woods to the left. Every once in a while he spotted what looked like a dirt track running parallel with the road. “He doubled back.”
“What are we gonna do?”
Jordan gripped the wheel tighter. “Hang on.”
He stomped the accelerator, and the car lurched forward at ever increasing speeds. He recognized the type of vehicle Zach drove. It was a matter of time before Zach overtook them. The engine in his car was no match for the revved up engine in the truck.
A jolt sent him slamming back and then rocking forward, his head bouncing on the steering wheel. One glimpse of Chelsea revealed she’d slammed her head on the dash. Another hit forced his car off the road. He tried to steer into the skid, but his efforts were useless as the truck smacked into his swerving bumper once again.
The front end crashed into a fence post and dragged barbwire behind the car. Just as he was catching his breath, the hood slammed into a tree. The crunch of grinding, bending metal met his ears. Chelsea screamed. A quick examination satisfied him that he wasn’t badly hurt.
“Chelsea, are you okay?”
She mumbled something and then pushed into an upright position.
Before either of them could make another move, the driver’s side window busted, splashing fragments of safety glass all over them. A double barrel shotgun pushed its nose through the new opening.
Chelsea Lane (Haunted Hearts Series Book 5) Page 25